


Stress Relief

by commissions (so_psychso)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (both Gerry and Mike are trans), Face-Sitting, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:40:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24572434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/so_psychso/pseuds/commissions
Summary: It's nothing new for Mike to find his boyfriend overworked and exhausted. Besides, he has remedies for that.
Relationships: Michael "Mike" Crew/Gerard Keay
Comments: 7
Kudos: 118





	Stress Relief

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seraf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraf/gifts).



> This fic is a commission.
> 
> If you want to request something, please feel free to shoot a message over to my [tumblr](https://master-fiber.tumblr.com/)!

It’s something of a guilty pleasure, this, when he slinks into Pinhole Books unannounced, maneuvering the precarious stacks with a finesse that infuriates Gerry. Because Mike always gets the drop on him. No matter how his boyfriend ensconces himself amidst the leatherbound pages, Mike invariably finds a way to put his diminutive stature (and general excellent sense of spatiality) to the test and sneak up on Gerry.

Today finds his boyfriend half slumped in a chair, nodding off, it looks like, so Mike takes pity, forgoing the cheeky kiss he’d been keen to steal, and instead making an effort to announce himself a few feet away, clearing his throat softly. 

“Nm,” comes Gerry’s equally subdued reply, and Mike swoops in, anchoring his hands on Gerry’s shoulders and leaning over to nuzzle the top of his head. 

“Burning at both ends again, are we?” Mike inquires, jostling Gerry and earning a groan for it.

“F’k off,” Gerry mutters, as Mike scoots around properly, readily prepared to unleash a tide of tacky fondness onto his boyfriend.

The sight that greets him, however, dispels all thoughts of playful banter and teasing. While Gerry entertains a certain degree of aesthetic, sure, the bags beneath his eyes and the gaunt sallowness hollowing out his already cut-glass cheekbones makes Mike’s stomach lurch only with worry.

“How long has it been since you’ve slept,” he asks, carefully curating a tone of both concern and faint chastisement.

“What day is it?” Gerry replies, deadpan in a way that doesn’t invite bemusement.

“Wednesday,” Mike answers, “the fifteenth.”

“Uh… Monday, then. I think. Mum found…” with this, Gerry waves toward a pile of crates in the corner, all of which—in Mike’s finely tuned gaze—thrum unsettlingly.

Ignoring the gnawing curiosity clawing its way up his brainstem, Mike returns his attention to Gerry.

“S’just been a lot,” he’s saying, face now propped firmly in his palms, his back woefully hunched.

“Well then,” Mike huffs, and skirting back around the chair Gerry’s slumped in, gets his arms beneath the latter’s, and begins hoisting him to his feet. “Seems _you_ are in need of some TLC.”

About this time, Gerry usually tries to save face, to pretend he isn’t an exhausted bag of bones and can function perfectly on the last proper three hours of sleep he’s gotten. As it transpires, he lets Mike handle him without fuss, a surprise as much as it is a relief, and Mike is never one to look twice at a gift horse, though an errant few comments do slip out, his fondness for his boyfriend always overriding common sense.

“Can walk,” Gerry mumbles, as all but the entirety of his already meager weight rests on Mike.

“No you cannot,” Mike replies sunnily. “Besides, it’s like carrying a particularly useless cat.”

“I’ll show you a cat.”

“I’m sure you will, now come on.”

Despite spending quite literally most of his life among the towers of these books, Gerry still possesses less coordination for wending the cramped spaces than Mike, so it’s something of a chore to get him out of the main fray of the store, but eventually they accomplish it. Then it’s up the stairs to the adjoined apartment, until, finally, Mike half guides, half drags Gerry into his bedroom. 

All pretenses fled, Gerry pitches onto his bed.

“Aw, love,” Mike smiles, promptly putting his knuckles to work between Gerry’s shoulders, and relishing in the long, drawn groan he earns.

“ _G’hhh fff’shit_ ,” is about as eloquent a reply as Gerry can give, and Mike faults him for none of it, simply doubles down on his technique until he’s gotten Gerry divested of jacket and shirt, his hands working soft, cool flesh more knot than it is muscle.

“See, this is what happens when you don’t take care of yourself,” Mike gently scolds, at the same time digging his thumbs into an especially tender spot of soreness.

“ _Fuckfuckowfuck_ ,” Gerry mutters, and Mike lets up once he’s deemed the spot thoroughly loosened. Pausing a moment, he leans down and kisses it, too, as a reward for Gerry’s cooperation.

“Oh I see how it is,” Gerry sighs, turning his head aside so Mike can see the lazy smile he wears.

“Do you now?” Mike returns, and indeed administers another kiss, this one exceptionally un-subtle, punctuated with a slight nip of teeth.

“Missed you,” Mike breathes, keeping the words low and hot against Gerry’s skin.

“Missed you, too,” Gerry exhales.

Theirs is not exactly a complicated relationship—met when they were two stupid teenagers hunting the same cursed things, and now they’re two stupid adults still at the game—but by no means is it a flowers and chocolates affair. No date nights or talk of moving in together. They’re exclusive, sure, but those are the only set parameters. The rest is made up mostly on the fly, and it works. It’s nice. For the two of them and their respective burdens, it’s the best they could ask for. 

Which is why Mike so dearly covets their time together, and why he very much intends to see Gerry rendered incoherent under his careful attention. 

“You up for something a little more… deep tissue?” He murmurs, working his lips toward the nape of Gerry’s neck, his hands, meanwhile, occupying themselves at the small of his back.

“Y’know,” Gerry groans, “I really, _really_ hate when you say shit like that.” 

“Oh I’m sorry,” Mike replies, mouth now tracing the shell of Gerry’s ear. “Would you prefer I offer to fuck you so deeply your cunt will feel my fingers for a week?”

Shivering, Gerry replies, “Maybe,” in that sweetly coy tone that means he’d be amenable to just about anything Mike wants to give him.

And, in this instance, Mike very much wants to see him sprawled out on his back, arching and moaning till all that pallid exhaustion has washed away to a lovely shade of wanton red. Another reason he so adores Gerry, all that pale posturing does nothing to hide when he’s worked up to a flushed desperation.

Voicing none of this, he dives down into the crook of Gerry’s neck and places there a kiss before pulling back and nudging Gerry’s right shoulder.

“On your back then, if you’d be so kind.”

“And if I wasn’t?” Gerry challenges, complying all the same till he’s laying prone, eyes lidded, mouth wide with a smirk, and his hands strewn above his head.

“Do I need to tie you down?” Mike counters, chucking Gerry briefly under the chin before moving in and at last claiming that pretty mouth.

He’s sure Gerry’s got a smart retort, but whatever it is, it gets lost in the daze of their embrace, the kiss turning immediately heavy, sliding tongues and teeth searching out each other’s lips and throats to decorate with red and purple.

It’s a wonder there’s enough coherence between them to coordinate that, let alone getting Gerry stripped down to his pants, but they manage it just fine, and by the time Mike pulls back, the man beneath him is a wreck, a full body flush claiming scarlet and pink across just about every inch of skin. 

“Well aren’t you just the loveliest thing,” Mike purrs, still fully clothed, himself, and he spares a few moments to amend that, tossing his coat aside and undoing the topmost buttons of his shirt before rolling up his sleeves.

“And you look proper daddy,” Gerry fires back, his tongue between his teeth as he sneers.

Mike just rolls his eyes before swooping back down and kissing Gerry breathless.

As he works open his boyfriend’s mouth to a panting mess, he indulges another direction, as well, smoothing his palm over Gerry’s chest, tracing his scars inward to his sternum before chasing the heaving plain of his abdomen down, down, his fingertips coming to a halt at the band of his briefs.

“May I?” he inquires softly, leaving Gerry with his mouth half open and his eyes heavily lidded.

“Please.”

And Mike swallows the wrecked moan Gerry breathes as Mike maneuvers his hand under his briefs, spreading his legs wide so Mike can dip two fingers down with ease, gathering slickness that he works around Gerry’s cock, massaging it slowly and so, so thoroughly. Just the way that drives Gerry to madness, all twitching thighs and hands grasping in Mike’s hair.

“When did you last get off,” Mike chuckles, drawing his fingers over Gerry’s soaked entrance again, and resuming his methodical precision: one finger either side of Gerry’s cock, a third occasionally flicking the tip.

“ _Ghnn-d’no_ ,” Gerry pants, keening high and needy in the back of his throat.

Which is where Mike focuses the next round of his mouth’s attention, sucking dark and stubborn marks all over Gerry’s throat as he works his fingers.

Gerry’s first orgasm is always such a delicate thing, though somewhat difficult to gauge the start of. But Mike’s getting better at recognizing the signs, and—yes, there, that small little hitch in that last moan—and he keeps his ministrations steady, each point of pressure exactly perfect until Gerry’s coming apart beneath him, hips grinding up to meet the palm of Mike’s hand, fingernails digging into Mike’s scalp, stomach muscles taut and twitching until the threshold’s been well and truly crossed, and Mike lets up, not keen to tease past overstimulation.

“Jesus _fuck_ ,” Gerry says, once he’s gathered his breath, not so easy a task with the way Mike still lavishes his throat. 

“Good?” Mike hums, once he’s worked his way back up to Gerry’s ear, nibbling it playfully.

“S’if you have to ask,” Gerry retorts. 

“Good,” Mike grins. “Because I’d _really_ like to ride your face. You up for that?”

“ _Why_ are you full of so many _obvious_ questions today?” Gerry huffs dramatically, throwing his hands up for emphasis.

Mike catches them and kisses each one, starting at the inner wrist and working his way to fingertip.

“Because I love you,” he answers plainly, and pulls away before Gerry can glare at him.

Though usually fastidious with his clothes, he never cares to make Gerry wait, so removes his shirt, trousers, and briefs with obvious haste. Gerry, at least, gives him the dignity of no comment, though does leverage a cocky smirk as Mike straddles his chest and spares a second to stroke his aching cock. 

“You flatter me,” Gerry comments, as Mike fails to cage a low groan at the first touch of his own fingers.

“Only the best for you,” Mike manages, shuffling forward till he’s inches above Gerry’s waiting mouth.

“Mm, I think you’re right about that,” Gerry says, eyeing him with a distinct hunger. “Now c’mere.”

Gerry barely gets his hands around Mike’s thighs before the latter is sinking down onto that velvet soft tongue, shuddering at the very first _flick_ that laves over his cock. When they’d first met, Gerry’s tongue had been wickedly pierced, a novelty that brought Mike to several, mind-shattering orgasms over the course of the time they’d made use of it. The piercing’s long since healed, but Gerry is no less talented in its absence, and it takes no insubstantial effort to get Mike properly writhing.

“You like tha-at?” He demands, grinding steadily as Gerry hums against him. “Like to be a lovely mouth for— _ah_ —m-me to use, don’t you.”

Gerry opens his eyes, but only enough to give a slow, fucked-out blink that has Mike pitching forward and gripping Gerry by the hair, arching _hard_ against his jaw.

“ _Beautiful_ ,” he growls, then gasps as Gerry does _something_ with his tongue, and the smoldering heat in his belly roars to a fever pitch, climax catching him off guard so he can only tremble, his own mouth agape, eyes fixed on Gerry as his orgasm rips through him.

“ _Shit_ ,” he curses, when he finds enough bearings to speak again and, shakily, he dismounts Gerry’s still gasping mouth, collapsing beside Gerry and trying to find his breath.

For his part, Gerry just gives a contented murmur, nuzzling into the crook of Mike’s neck and placing demure little kisses here and there. At some point, his fingers trace over Mike’s stomach and find his hand; he holds it, safe and secure, pressed over Mike’s still wildly beating heart. It’s terribly saccharine, and Mike basks in the warmth of their closeness.

“You know,” he says some time later, once the room’s refitted itself into his view. “I believe I promised something about fingers, didn’t I?”

“Mm, you might have,” Gerry replies, face still smushed into Mike’s collar, though his next kiss has a decidedly less soft application to it. 

“Mhm,” Mike agrees, and with terrifying deftness, rolls onto his side and wedges his left leg between Gerry’s, pinning it wide. “Thought so.”

In this position, he can watch Gerry thoroughly, can hold his gaze captive as he traipses his fingers down Gerry’s stomach, tracing them through slick heat all over again. He spares an indulgent moment to tend Gerry’s cock, but seeks his quarry soon enough, tentatively slipping one, then two fingers inside Gerry’s soaked cunt, relishing the broken moan this elicits from his boyfriend. 

“Shhh, just like that,” he soothes, “there we go, you can take it, I know you can.”

He does, of course, Gerry is always so obedient, so eager to be filled, and it’s always lovely like this, the scorching warmth of him around Mike’s fingers, the spasms of his muscles as Mike massages just _there_ , just the right spot, until all it takes is a few brushes over his cock, and Gerry’s coming undone all over again, trembling bodily, his nails digging into Mike’s arm where he’s grabbed ahold and refuses to let go. 

Even as Mike gingerly extricates his fingers, Gerry refuses to relinquish him, so Mike just stays there, happily ensnared in Gerry’s grip, rubbing delicate circles around his tender cock, savoring each hissed inhale and low exhale his efforts receive.

“Shit, I needed that,” Gerry offers after an indeterminate length of lazy minutes. 

Mike, operating on a sort of blissed out auto-pilot, comes to and finds Gerry smiling serenely back at him, cheeks flushed with a healthy pink glow, hair in utter disarray, expression so placid it makes Mike’s chest tighten.

“Glad I could help,” he says.

“Always do,” Gerry grins, and lets Mike pull him into an exasperated kiss with only a _slightly_ insufferable amount of smugness.

“What am I going to do with you,” Mike sighs when he pulls back for a breath.

Stretching luxuriously, Gerry gives a sly wink, “I can think of a few things.”

“Anything _else_?” Mike counters, unable to swallow his smile all the same.

“Nope!” Gerry pops the “p” for emphasis, and Mike groans, dragging him in for another kiss.

“You’re really asking for it, Kaey,” he threatens.

“Sure am, _Michael_.”

“Oh that’s _it_.”

And Mike’s got him pinned again, Gerry’s wrists in his, his annoyingly clever mouth rendered useless under duress of a _very_ thorough snogging.

“Careful you don’t suffocate me next time,” Gerry gasps.

“As if,” Mike counters, painting kisses from Gerry’s temple to his throat, “you’d begrudge me anything I gave you.”

Gerry has no response for that. Or much else proceeding, the two of them falling back into rhythm, more than content to waste the rest of the day in bed.

Funny, really, Mike had come here as much on an errand as a visit, but they’re two sides of the same coin, really: the errand, the visit; him and Gerry. 

And he begrudges neither. Not even for a second.


End file.
